


a study of fear and loss and the strength that it builds

by thompsborn



Series: tumblr prompts + drabbles [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Death, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, idk how to tag this, is this a vent fic or a character piece?, lowercase is intentional, who knows!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26368639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thompsborn/pseuds/thompsborn
Summary: fear, to peter, is like an echo of his heartbeat.it doesn’t go away.
Relationships: Ben Parker & Peter Parker, Mary Parker & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: tumblr prompts + drabbles [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1655254
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	a study of fear and loss and the strength that it builds

**Author's Note:**

> only a partial vent fic in this short character piece lol haha wow

fear, to peter, looks like fog.

it’s all consuming in the way that the early morning fog swallows the streets and hides reality behind it’s hazy gray. he will look—anywhere, at any time—and he will see the way it hovers in the air, clings to certain objects, certain people, certain memories.

fog never really goes away—it only vanishes from sight when the air heats up and the water droplets return to a gas in the form of water vapor. it becomes less prominent and it never stays in the same spot forever but it’s never quite gone, and it’s there, it’s persistent, whenever it seeps through layers of clothes and presses damp and heavy into warm skin.

fear, to peter, is much the same.

there is not a moment of peace, a moment of safety and comfort. in the back of his mind, hovering like the morning fog, is all of the fear that he will never shake free of. fear of failure, of loss and heartbreak, of destroying the fragile remains of family that he cradles in his palms like jagged shards of shattered glass.

broken fragments that reflect the empty spaces where people once were—where they no longer stand, taken by death’s cruel hand, guided to another path by the misfortunes of life. even when the fog lifts, the condensation gets left behind, dries into water stains that corrupt the reflection as a reminder of the fear that continues to hover—always present, never far.

fear, to peter, is like an echo of his heartbeat.

it doesn’t go away.

* * *

“don’t be scared.”

peter despises those three words. he hates them with every fiber of his being, with the fabric of his very soul. “i’ll be scared,” he wants to exclaim. “i will _always_ be scared.”

(but the words had come from parted lips that were starting to tint blue from the blood loss and the winter chill. “don’t be scared, _”_ ben had told him, red stained fingers trembling as the pad of his thumb brushed away the tears rolling down his nephew’s crestfallen features.

_i’m terrified,_ peter remembers thinking. “i’m not,” is what he had told ben, voice uneven and cracking with emotion. “i’m not scared.”

he has never told a bolder lie.)

a young woman, maybe still a teenager, no more than 20 years of age, clutching her backpack to her chest with shaking hands and staring at the mouth of the alleyway that her attacker is still in, webbed to the wall and waiting for reinforcements to take care of. “how?” she asks. “how aren’t you afraid?”

peter—fourteen, at first, with the words _don’t be scared_ running circles in his head, fresh responsibilities heavy on his shoulders while fresh loss weighs heavier in his lungs; fifteen, soon after, with the need to prove himself straightening his spine and an ache in his jaw from clenching it with determination, unknowingly taking tony’s expectations of him and stacking them on top of his expectations for himself, too tall of a tower for him to realistically be able to reach; sixteen, eventually, bone tired and unable to sleep through the night without the dark corners of his brain infiltrating all of his dreams, a father figure and a mother figure that he loves with everything he has but unable to shake the weight of no mother, no father, no uncle; seventeen, at this point, graduation looming ahead and so much pressure that he puts on himself to achieve every goal, to fulfill every promise, to never stop, never slow down, unable to even lift a hand without feeling the way it shakes.

peter—spider-man; parker; psuedo stark.

peter tells this woman, “i’m constantly afriad,” and watches the way she blinks to herself in surprise. vulnerability is not something that heroes tend to show—they are expected to be unwavering signs of strength and confidence, a reassurance to the public that there is someone, that there are people, protecting the cities and the towns and the villages. heroes are frowned upon when they expose their pain.

but _don’t be scared_ is not realistic. it is not reliable or responsible or reasonable.

“being afraid is part of the job,” he tells the woman. “i think it’s just a part of life, really.”

“then how—?” the woman stops, shakes her head and loosens her grip on her bag. “if you’re always afraid, how do you do— _this?”_

a grand gesture, sweeping around them, taking in the vacant sidewalk and the distant sirens and the vulgar cursing coming from the webbed up mugger still stuck in the alley. peter tilts his head to the side, considers—

(“it’s okay to be scared,” ben had said, when peter was learning how to skateboard—a scrawny twelve year old that was terrified to even step onto the damn thing. may was recording from a few feet away, her smile wide and encouraging. “just don’t let it stop you.”)

—the best way to answer—

(“don’t fight the fear, kiddo,” tony had told him, in the middle of the fight in upper manhattan. peter was pinned up against a brick wall by one of doc ock’s clawed arms, struggling to even his breathing as he wildly tried to think of a way out of his position. “it’s there for a reason. fight _with_ it, alright? let it help you, not hinder you.”

peter had been confused for a moment—until he closed his eyes, focused on the terror curling in his stomach, and allowed it to guide his frantic brain in a plan for escape.)

—and the words he says wind up not being his own. “fear isn’t something to be afraid of,” he tells the woman, tone at ease, words simple.

(“i don’t wanna be scared,” peter had said, five years old and curled up in the lap of one mary parker, only a few days before she left with richard on the trip they would never return from. richard was in the kitchen, making three cups of hot cocoa for the little family, while peter tried to recover from a childish nightmare that he can’t remember the details of now.

“fear isn’t something to be afraid of,” mary had told him, soft spoken and wise beyond her years. she tucked a curl behind his ears and pressed a kiss to his nose and smiles in her loving way. “it makes you tougher.”)

* * *

fear, to peter, looks like fog.

it comes, it stays, it weighs him down when more gets added on to what was already there, but—in the end, it builds up his character, his resilience, his capabilities and his resolve.

in the end, it’s what makes him so strong.

**Author's Note:**

> give me ideas for short character study pieces because it makes me feel like i'm doing something worthwhile and maybe i wasn't just born to die and do nothing in between :)
> 
> anyway my tumblr is spidey-lad and i'm depressed and this is not a cry for help but you never know !!
> 
> and ur watching disney channel ;D


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